


Interview

by LMT



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By what strange henchman-hiring process did Kirill settle on Nikolai Luzhin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



Papa’s people were excellent in their way, but they were all Papa’s people.  What Kirill needed was a person of his own, a man he could trust absolutely.  A brother.  Not quite a brother though; brothers could get a bit overbearing and they sometimes came out with plans or quarrels or ideas of their own.  Kirill didn’t need any of that.  He just needed someone who would trail after him obediently, tell him _yes boss_ and _no boss_ and carry him home when he got too drunk.  Someone who would never open his mouth about the boss’s business, someone who would never betray him.  And yet not a doormat; this had to be someone who would strike fear in the hearts of all sane men.  He would be so loyal that the fear of him would become fear of Kirill, and then there would be no more of those _looks_ aimed Kirill’s way when people thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Such someones existed, but Kirill knew that the hunt for one would be extremely difficult.  How was he going to get one of London’s most competent and powerful men to take a position that was effectively that of a professional wife? 

And, the thought of _wife_ brought up another concern – an important one, one Kirill could not afford to ignore this time.  It was possible, he admitted to himself, theoretically possible that in a state of extreme drunkenness one night he could say or do something that a standoffish man might interpret as inappropriate.  Totally by accident, of course, but still, the last thing he needed was for his own bodyguard to stomp his guts on the mistaken impression that he was a queer.

This was a serious problem – Kirill could think of almost no worse way to die.  And he didn’t even _want_ to think of the horror of trying to explain away a broken face to his father without letting him _find out_.  This fear would have to be laid to rest before he struck a deal with any of the potential “drivers” who had answered the feelers he’d put out.

Of the men he’d talked to so far, the one who inspired the most confidence was a Nikolai Luzhin, a scarred and taciturn man who’d piqued his interest with an over-the-shoulder smile as he left their first meeting.  _You liked me,_ said that smile.  _You’ll call back._

He’d paid Nikolai for a few small jobs, aboveboardish things like actually driving people places, picking up packages, standing by the door at dinners like an impressive and dangerous piece of artwork.  A few other men had made it this far in Kirill’s selection process, but Nikolai won the favorite’s spot for good when they were out driving one day and Kirill glared at the sunglasses in the rearview.  “Hey,” he said shortly.  “Take those off.”

Nikolai did, slowly but right away.  He watched the road as he said: “How come?”

“Because I want to see your eyes.  How can I trust you if I don’t see your eyes?”

“Mm.”  As they glided to a halt at a stoplight, Nikolai looked into the rearview and stayed that way, calm and unblinking as Kirill studied him.

Kirill stared until the light was green.  “Okay,” he said at last, sitting back.  Only then did the driver return his attention to the road.

So he would take orders – at least about inconsequential things like his sunglasses.  But Kirill wanted more.  He had to know that there would be no backtalk or challenge or judgment no matter what he said and so, on their next meeting, in private in a basement, he poured himself a glass of vodka and ordered: “Now take off all your clothes.”

Nikolai’s head cocked just a fraction and his eyebrows rose.

“I want to see your tattoos.”  Kirill sat down on a dusty table and took another sip.  “You can see mine if you want also, but all you really need to know about is here.”  He pulled his collar aside to show one of the stars on his chest.

Nikolai shrugged.  “Okay, boss.”  He started with his tie, undoing it all the way before slithering it off his neck.  (On the rare occasions he had to wear a tie himself, Kirill tended to just loosen it and yank over his head.)  The jacket was next, hung neatly over the back of a chair.  Then his shirt, which he folded.  He wore no undershirt, and as he bent to untie his shoes Kirill stared at the broad expanse of his shoulders, amazed at all the ink and muscle that lived underneath the driver’s neat quiet suit.  He’d suspected this, yes.  But it was still amazing to see.

Nikolai stripped off his shoes and socks, then rose to open his trousers.  He met Kirill’s eyes for the first time, and acknowledged his look with faint amusement.  “I have lot of tattoos.”  He let the trousers fall to the floor and then, still looking at Kirill, touched the waistband of his underpants.  “Everything?”

As far as Kirill knew nobody ran around with messages or decorations on their balls, and yet, he found himself nodding and his mouth was dry.  “Yes.”

As Nikolai folded his pants and underwear, completely nude, Kirill turned on a lamp and dragged it closer.  “Let me look at you,” he said.  He walked around him slowly, taking in the gorgeous design that dominated Nikolai’s back, and the smaller ones on his arms and shoulders.  Some he had never seen before, and didn’t understand.  He brushed a finger over one, hoping Nikolai would take the opportunity to speak about it, but the touch got no reaction at all. 

Kirill stepped around front, where Nikolai could watch him looking.  His eyes moved over the markings on the driver’s chest, his ribs and stomach.  They glided swiftly over his cock and then down his legs.  He took another sip of vodka.

Nikolai submitted to the examination coolly, almost indifferently, but at last broke the long silence.  “Here,” he said, and backed up a step to lean on a table.  He raised one foot high, with a small smile.

Kirill bent to read it.  _Where are you going?,_ said that foot.  _What the hell do you care?,_ said the other.  Kirill laughed and straightened up.  “That’s very nice, man,” he said, clapping Nikolai on the arm.  The slap of skin on skin made him remember that Nikolai was naked – and so comfortable that they had both forgotten.

He swallowed and tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.  “Give me your hand,” he ordered.  Nikolai gave it, arm bent so that there wasn’t a foot between them as Kirill stood studying the work on his fingers.  “Other one,” he said after a bit, and Nikolai obeyed that too.  When he was done he let go and stepped away.  “Good, okay.  Thanks.  You can get dressed now.”

“Okay.”  Nikolai waited until he had pants on before addressing Kirill again.  “So: have I got the job, boss?”  There was a smile in his voice, but his face was still impassive.  “You won’t find anybody else with feet as clever as mine.”

This was certainly true.  The idea of asking any of the other potential hires to play out this scene was ridiculous.  The idea of any of them actually agreeing was more ridiculous still. 

So Kirill reached out to his chest, a half-slap that echoed off the basement walls.  “You back-talking son of a bitch.”

Nikolai took that for the compliment it was, and acknowledged it with a quick quirk of the eyebrows.  Kirill grinned at him.  They didn’t say anything else.  They didn’t need to.

***********************************************

The End.


End file.
